


Fighters and Losers

by HewerOfCaves



Series: B2MeM 2019 Stories [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle-under-Stars, Círdan Dior And Curufin Appear Briefly, Gen, Rated For Violence, Second Kinslaying | Sack of Doriath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-12 00:57:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18000764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HewerOfCaves/pseuds/HewerOfCaves
Summary: Two battles Celegorm fights.Written for Back to Middle Earth Month.Card: Complexities of CelegormNumber: G48(Fighter)





	Fighters and Losers

**Author's Note:**

> This is way more violent than I thought it would be. 
> 
> I'm not a native speaker. The story is not beta'd. I've experimented a little bit, so I'm not really sure how this turned out.

For Celegorm, Fëanor's son, having news of [armies of Morgoth that beleaguered Círdan in the Havens of the Falas], waylaid them with a part of the Elven-host, and coming down upon them out of the hills near Eithel Sirion drove them into the Fen of Serech.

\- _Chapter 13, Of the Return of the Noldor_

(...) Celegorm stirred up his brothers to prepare an assault upon Doriath. They came at unawares in the middle of winter, and fought with Dior in the Thousand Caves (...) There fell Celegorm by Dior's hand.

\- _Chapter 22, Of the Ruin of Doriath_

 

The horse reared and threw Celegorm down. The poor animal was understandably frightened, and Celegorm sang a few calming words to him, before slaying an attacking orc. Celegorm pulled his sword out from the creature’s neck and ducked in time to avoid a mace. He cut the orc’s feet from under him and advanced on a retreating group. His blood was singing. He felt no pain, no tiredness. He wished the fight would last longer.  
“After them!” he cried, “Drive them to marshes!” 

The stars shone brightly. Varda’s blessing was still upon them. Celegorm jumped back on his stallion and rode down the hill, through the pass, near the spring…

 

…along the endless halls and corridors of Menegroth. His sword is heavy in his hand, dripping with the blood of the Doriathrim. They attacked under the cover of a cloudy night when no star was visible in the sky. Menegroth wasn’t prepared, but they recovered quickly and put up a fight, using their knowledge of secret passages and hidden chambers. Everything is hidden in the realm of the Sindar: the kingdom itself, the city, the Silmaril… Celegorm has tired of this hide-and-seek game. No matter. It will be over soon. They will reclaim the Silmaril, and it will all be over. 

He whistles and hears Curufin’s answer from far away. He lets out a relieved breath. His little brother is still alive...

 

…and well on the other side of the battlefield, near Círdan’s small force that had chased the orcs from the Falas to the hills. This would win the friendship of the Sindar, or at least of the Falathrim. Celegorm knew allies would be important in the war against Morgoth. Allies who were in your debt, even if they were not close kin, were more likely to be useful than those who were only waiting for a chance to backstab you.

He told his horse to ride faster. The orcs were fleeing now without even trying to fight. Disorganized and terrorized by the attacking Noldor, they trampled the weak and left behind the wounded. Celegorm chased them down the hill and into the marshes, feeling the wild and sweet wind of Middle-earth in his hair. It made him grin as he…

 

…spins and tears open a Sinda warrior’s chest. She falls, and another one attacks him with a pained cry. Celegorm kills him too and four others that charge together. His people take care of the rest. _You could have avoided this,_ he wants to shout. If only Dior gave back what belonged to them by right. If only Fingon were alive to negotiate with those who scorned the sons of Fëanor. If only Finrod were alive… He shakes his head. It is no use reminiscing on what is done and gone. They will take the Silmaril, and it will end. The Oath will sleep for another hundred years, maybe even forever.

He turns around a corner and finds himself in a great hall. Their soldiers are fighting the Sindar guards, there are bodies everywhere. He looks for his brothers and finds…

 

…Círdan riding to him on a stocky but quite fast mare. Celegorm slowed down a little to allow the Sinda to reach him.

“Well fought,” Círdan said, when he approached, “The Noldor came just in time.”

Celegorm studied him. Círdan didn’t have the light of Aman in his eyes, but instead, he possessed immense wisdom and dignity. He commanded respect without even trying. Celegorm smiled. Círdan reminded him of his grandfather Finwë.

He inclined his head slightly. “We appreciate your help,” he said, even though he was sure they could have won even without it.

“Do you intend to continue pressing North?” Círdan asked.

“Yes,” Celegorm said, “My fight is not yet over.”

“Then I am afraid we shall have to part here,” Círdan said, “I must return to the Falas. I will make sure to give King Thingol the news of your bravery and swift victory.”

“I am sure there will be more victories for the Noldor and the Sindar,” Celegorm said.

After bidding farewell to Círdan, he called on his troops to go forward through the plain. His father and his eldest brothers would be in the van, impatient to reach Morgoth’s stronghold; the twins would be in the rear, while Caranthir…

 

…is dead. His brother is lying on the ground, his eyes open, his throat pierced by an arrow. Celegorm stares, incredulous, seeing nothing but the body, but then he hears a cry of dismay and looks up. There is a woman lying dead on the stairs leading to the throne. Must be Dior’s wife. Good. But the cry came from Curufin, who is fighting desperately against Dior, holding the sword with one hand and pressing the other to a bleeding wound on his stomach. 

Dior is also wounded but seemingly not as seriously as his opponent. For a moment, Celegorm is stricken by Dior’s resemblance to his mother, but he comes to his senses when his brother calls for help. If they get to healers in time, he may yet live. Celegorm runs up the stairs and raises his sword. Dior blocks his blow and is quick enough to block Curufin’s too. The young king slashes at Curufin’s arm, and Celegorm snarls as he sees his brother’s sword drop.

“My mother spared your lives, but I will not,” Dior cries, his eyes wild and tearful.

He is a great fighter, but he is young, wounded and distracted. Celegorm prepares to run him through with his sword when the arrow is shot. He doesn’t know if it was the Queen, not yet as dead as she appeared to be, or one of the guards. All he knows is that there is an arrow between his shoulder blades. He drops to his knees. Lúthien’s son drives his sword through him. Celegorm only has time to see Curufin pierce Dior’s eye with a knife before he succumbs to darkness.


End file.
